


Come Under Fire

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age II
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Fenris slip away from Wicked Grace for some fun....and get a little too excited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Under Fire

Hawke was burning up.

It was his own Maker-damned fault. He'd arrived to Wicked Grace late and had to take the seat next to Varric's fireplace, which was lovely for the first ten minutes, but after that he was sweating and shedding clothes at a rate of a piece of armor with each losing hand.

"You do know this isn't a strip round, right?" Varric tossed a silver into the winnings.

"Shh you." Isabela winked across the table. "A few more minutes and we'll have a show."

"Har-de-har." Hawke set down a dagger card, and caught Fenris' eye.

The moment shouldn't have mattered. Everyone at the table had figured out weeks ago what was going on between them--that the dead tree in their communal courtyard had inexplicably flowered again--but Hawke flushed as want tangled around his groin.

Aveline cleared her throat.

Fenris chuckled into his mug.....then flicked his eyes up over the rim. It wasn't just the fireplace overheating Hawke's body now.

_Shameless vinegar swilling bastard._

By ninth bell, when the bar downstairs was in full roar and Wicked Grace had dissolved into a conversation about a scruffy bear that may or may not have been living under the Chantry and taking shits in the confession booth (Merrill dubbed it "the ghost bear," Isabela just called it Anders), Hawke was about to boil over. His balls were aching, not helped by the fact that Fenris was gently squeezing a wine cork someone had left on the table...

And licking his lips.

And making pleased little noises in his throat with each new card.

And raking his eyes over the unlaced collar of Hawke's tunic down his chest-

Hawke bolted up so fast his chair tipped over. "Time to water the geraniums!"

"But it's winter-oh." Merrill blushed and giggled.

"Try not to water the back door this time," murmured Varric. "People do walk there, you know."

Hawke made his way down the dark hallway of the Hanged Man. Instead of taking a right to the latrines out back, he turned left into a room he knew to be empty. A few tickles of a lock pick later its door clicked open and he slipped inside.

There wasn't much time. He lit a candle on the nightstand, stripped, and flung himself into bed. Dribbling his palm from an oil flask carefully hidden beneath the mattress he slid a finger into himself.

His heart hammered. Two fingers.

Three.

Each set of footsteps down the hall stabbed panic through his gut. When he was sure he was ready he rolled over, buried his face in the pillow, arched his back, and presented his arse to the door.

_Better appreciate this, elf._

A few seconds later footsteps rasped against the floorboards outside the door. A draft of cool air blew across his toes as it whispered open, then closed.

Hawke's cock twitched painfully against his stomach. He felt eyes appraising him, heard an intake of breath....followed by the unhurried unlacing of breeches. Without fuss or preamble Fenris oiled himself, dragged Hawke's arse to the edge of the bed, and mounted him.

Hawke groaned. _Maker, yes._

His world narrowed to the stretch and burn of the cock pressing into him and the hard clap of flesh on flesh. It was a good thing for the pillow, because if anyone ever heard the Champion of Kirkwall _moaning_ -

The pillow was ripped from his mouth.

_Terrific._

"I want to hear you." Fenris buried himself deep inside, the way he liked it, his thrusts shallow and focused as he pressed against that spot, riding out his pleasure as Hawke gasped and spread his knees in the sheets- "I want everyone to hear you."

"Oh fuck, Fen..."

Hawke's fingers twisted in the pillow. He beat it against the bed, slung it across the nightstand-

Fenris stopped thrusting. "Fire."

"Fire away, love," Hawke panted. "Make me come!"

"No, FIRE." Fenris pulled out.

Hawke lifted his head. The pillow was in flames on the floor, the candle sputtering in a pool of wax beside it.

Hawke vaulted off the bed and beat the pillow against the wall. The flames cackled and clawed at his beard.

"Shit!"

Hawke wrenched open the door and ran. Sebastian, just stepping out of Varric's suite, screamed and threw himself back against the wall. Hawke sailed down the steps of the Hanged Man, through the crowded bar, past gaping drunks, out the door into the freezing night and flung the pillow into the snow.

It exploded in feathers and ash. Hawke stood there on the frozen stoop panting.

It took him awhile to realize he had an audience.

~

"Why the hell.....didn't you....." Varric touched his forehead to the table and burst into tears.

"At full mast no less!" said Isabela.

"The back door was right there," said Sebastian, the only one not dying around their table. "Why not just turn that way?"

"I wasn't exactly clear-headed," Hawke muttered into his hands.

"I'll say." Isabela snorted back tears. "I'm surprised you didn't just use your....battering ram!"

The chorus of hyenas went up again. Hawke pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Aveline had the grace to pat his shoulder. Anders leaned in close on his other side.

"Might consider _biting_ the pillow next time," he whispered, then hopped away before Hawke could hip-check him off the bench.

Fenris at least was just as miserable. He met Hawke's gaze across the table and grimaced.

"Next time?" Hawke sighed, and raised a toast to his lover.

Fenris managed a smile as he kissed his mug to Hawke's. "I'll bring a bucket."


End file.
